


Had you forgotten, do you remember?

by fleurdeliser, tuesdaysgone



Series: Timey-Wimey 'verse [1]
Category: Comics RPF, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, M/M, Time Travel, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 08:43:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurdeliser/pseuds/fleurdeliser, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaysgone/pseuds/tuesdaysgone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard wrote a televator into Umbrella Academy, but what are the odds he and Frank would stumble across one on a tour of the BBC? Or that it would work? </p><p>Or that it would look like a blue police box?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Had you forgotten, do you remember?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tabulaxrasa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabulaxrasa/gifts).



> This isn't a Doctor Who crossover....exactly. 
> 
> Warning for discussion of Alzheimers, fake science, and misuse of a TARDIS.
> 
> This is for [tabulaxrasa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tabulaxrasa), who we adore.
> 
> Many thanks to [jrho](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jrho) for an excellent beta and fixing our commas.

Gerard is pretty sure most people’s definition of “rock star lifestyle” doesn’t involve “getting the BBC to give you a tour of their TV studios,” but he doesn’t care much because his does. All the guys have turned out for this, and Lauren besides, and they're walking around and staring at everything. Gerard is at least half-listening to the studio guy who’s guiding them, but they're not to the Doctor Who section yet, and everyone is most excited for that. Well. Gerard is most excited for that.

They go through a set of doors and onto the Who set and everyone is wide-eyed. It’s rad, and Gerard is so fucking happy and amazed to be here, and then James says, "So when are they gonna let Grant write an episode? Neil Gaiman has done one! It's only fair."

Their guide starts talking about Neil Gaiman, and everyone else is still following along and nodding, but Gerard is just frozen. Frank is too. Mikey takes one look at them both and jumps in with a comment on one of Neil’s comic books and sort of herds everyone else along to give them a moment.

Gerard grabs Frank's hand and squeezes. He doesn't really know what he can say. Grant keeps coming up randomly like this, and it really fucking shouldn’t, but it takes them by surprise every time.

Frank asks, “How long since you've talked to him?"

"Not since… since we left his house after the Glasgow show," Gerard says. And that's the part that sucks the most. Both of them used to call Grant pretty often. He's one of their best friends. And now it’s like... they can't because there’s this weird barrier there. A barrier of respecting his wishes and really fucking needing to still be his friends.

"Yeah, me either," Frank says quietly. "I just... After how things were this past summer at the shoots I thought - I didn’t think we were reading things wrong. This sucks." 

"We made a mistake, that's all," Gerard says. "It’ll...blow over. I guess it wasn't meant to be." 

"We have to... If he doesn’t want us like that, it’s fine, but I don't want to permanently lose him," Frank says, running his free hand over his head. The very thought makes Gerard's stomach clench unpleasantly. He shakes his head. 

"No. We'll. In a little while, we'll just have to get over it and call him." 

"And in the meantime, lick our wounds like the pathetic lovesick losers that we are," Frank grumbles. 

Gerard links their fingers together. "C'mon. Maybe there's a sonic screwdriver we can look at." 

"Nerd," Frank says, dragging Gerard toward the Doctor Who set. "Oh hey, it's a TARDIS!" 

"Where?" Gerard says, spinning around. 

Frank laughs. "Well, I don't know, but I'm going to bet there's one somewhere, and we won't see it unless we actually go through the door," Frank says. This time Gerard does the dragging, and they see the guys up ahead clumped around a bright blue police box. "See? There's a TARDIS." Frank sounds smug. 

Gerard rolls his eyes and tugs Frank's hand, so he stops and turns. Gerard leans in and kisses him. "Okay," he says when he pulls back. "Let's go see this thing. You have to take a picture of me." 

By the time they cross the room, the guys have already been distracted by another soundstage. Gerard can hear James saying, "It's bigger on the inside!" in a really terrible accent, so he drags Frank over to the police box. 

"Take a picture of me looking out the door!" he orders. Frank rolls his eyes but digs his good camera out of its bag, which means Gerard's totally getting an awesome print for his office. He opens the door and poses, smiling at Frank's lens. Frank snaps a few pictures, and Gerard steps all the way inside and pulls the door shut. It's a little musty and not very exciting at all on the inside, just an empty box. But it's still fucking cool. He closes his eyes and imagines himself with the Doctor, flying through space and time. He feels weirdly dizzy and opens his eyes. He's... not inside anything even remotely like a TARDIS or even an empty prop anymore. 

He is in what is clearly a dorm room, containing a teenage boy sitting cross-legged on a neatly-made bed. A teenage boy who looks vaguely familiar, slightly alarmed, but more suspicious than shocked. After a second look, it’s Gerard who is the shocked one because the teenage boy is unmistakably Grant. Which means either Gerard has just had a really bizarre psychotic break, or there’s something to this whole “time and relative dimension in space” thing. 

"Fuck, what did Dad do now?" Grant says. 

At first Gerard's just trying not to hyperventilate, and he doesn’t really understand, but then he remembers Grant’s dad and the nuclear protesting in the sixties and seventies and finally wheezes, "Do I look like a Fed to you, Grant?" 

"Well, no. But how do you know my name if you aren't? And why would you be in my room?" Grant’s still frowning, looking about as irate and threatening as a Scottish schoolboy in - fuck, plaid pajamas - can possibly look.

"Can I convince you it's time travel?" Gerard says weakly. 

Grant looks skeptical. "I've come to believe that nothing is quite as it seems and that things one might consider magical are possible, but that seems a bit far-fetched." Gerard practically whimpers. That's the Grant he knows, coming out of the mouth of this adorable teenage boy. He can't take it. 

"I'm not lying. I... I met you in two thousand six. You're one of my best friends." 

"Oh," Grant says, still skeptical. "So, why are you here, Yank? Is it," he drops his voice, "aliens?" 

Gerard can't help but grin. "Not that I...." he stops. "Maybe?” 

"Maybe like you can't tell me, or maybe like -" 

"Grant!" Oh god, he's such a mindfuck. "Maybe like, I'm just as weirded out as you to be here, but I'm glad because I never knew you when you were - how old are you, dude?" 

Grant looks at him quizzically. "Just turned eighteen." 

Gerard nods. "So it's... um... nineteen seventy-eight? Oh Christ, I'm not even a year old yet." 

"That is so weird. Aren't you afraid you're going to step on a bug and end the world?" Grant blinks at him seriously, but he's relaxed a little, shifting out of his tense posture. 

Not until now. "Can I sit down?" Gerard asks. 

"Be my guest," Grant says, and Gerard sinks down on the closest surface, which happens to be next to where Grant is sitting on his bed. Gerard sits and just takes a few deep breaths. 

"Fuck. Frank and Mikey. Jesus. What if... fuck." 

A hand lands on his shoulder, sort of awkwardly. His Grant - failed come-ons notwithstanding - would have given him a hug. "Don't worry, Yank," Grant says. "I'm sure it'll all work out." 

"Gerard," Gerard says. 

"Gerard," Grant says. Gerard lets himself lean over, so Grant's arm goes around his shoulders. This is even more awkward, and Grant is stiff against him. 

Gerard sighs. "So what are you doing today?" Gerard asks. If he gets Grant talking, maybe that will distract him from all the worst case scenarios crowding into his brain. 

Grant hesitates, and Gerard suggests gently, "Show me your portfolio? I know you have one."

Grant gets up, and Gerard misses having an arm around him, but Grant grabs his portfolio from beside his desk and sits back down and opens it up.

Gerard forgets to be nervous about anything for a while, paging through the book. It's fascinating to see because Grant's style has evolved so much over thirty-odd years. Gerard asks him a lot of questions, especially about the figure drawings because while they're relatively generic and portfolio appropriate, Gerard knows Grant has a story about them.

Grant gets to talking about everything - Gerard was right, a lot of them are comics characters in disguise - and if Gerard closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he's sitting next to the Grant of his time, except that this Grant, while he's got that same excitement and just, hunger for knowledge and thoughts and all of it, he has none of adult Grant's confidence. And Gerard remembers how it felt to be 18 and...well, scared.

"It's totally awesome," Gerard tells him. Grant frowns. 

"Yes, well. It's nice you think so. One of the art schools I applied to already rejected me."

Gerard bites the inside of his cheek. He may not believe in the Butterfly Effect, but he's not about to tell Grant that he knows the rest of them will, too.

"I'm sorry," Gerard says. "But hey, applying to art schools means you're almost done here, right?"

"Can't happen soon enough if you ask me," Grant says, hunching his shoulders a little. "This place is a sty." He closes the portfolio and sets it on the floor. 

This time, it's Gerard who reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Tell me."

"I hate everyone here, I can't… there's no way to meet anyone actually interesting, and the teachers are all incompetent. To start with," Grant says.

Gerard sighs. Teenagers' problems, it seems, are eternal. "You're - Grant, you're the smartest person I know. Maybe these people don't understand you. Maybe most people don't understand you. But people will, okay?"

"Do you?" Grant asks. There's a touch of mocking in his voice, and Gerard rolls his eyes. 

"Yes," he answers emphatically. "Better than I understand almost everyone else in the world."

"Have you come to deliver a pep talk, then? Because it's a bit shit, isn't it, Yank?" 

"Gerard," Gerard says again. "And I didn't try to come here at all. But I - now that I'm here, I'm glad. I wasn't lying or exaggerating when I said you're one of my best friends, you know. You're one of the most important people in my life. I'm glad to meet you now." Gerard just can't stop looking at him. Grant lets him. 

"You're staring," Grant says after a few moments. 

"Apparently I like looking at you no matter what year it is," Gerard says unthinkingly. 

Grant's eyes get big and he chews on his lip and says, "Well." 

"Well?" Gerard echoes. And all of a sudden Grant is kissing him, fumbling at his leather jacket, and he's so desperate. Even more desperate than Frank had been when Gerard had finally sobered up and gotten his shit together. Gerard remembers that Grant is a virgin. In the back of his head, he feels a twinge of guilt at finding that totally hot, but he ignores it. Instead, he lifts his hands to Grant's head and laces his fingers through Grant's hair. 

He lets Grant set the pace, sliding one arm around his slender waist and ignoring the frantic throb of both his heart and his dick. Grant pulls back after a moment, looking wondering and eager and with a ghost of his adult self's wicked smile. "Have we done this before?" 

"Me? With you? No," Gerard answers. 

"But you want to?" 

"More than almost anything," Gerard replies. 

"Show me," Grant says. Begs, really. His eyes are sparkling, more like the Grant Gerard knows than anything he's been so far. Gerard is still completely in disbelief that he's doing this. Not that he intends to stop. Unless Grant wants him to. He has a moment’s pang of sadness that Frank isn’t here, but he knows he’s had a Grant Exception for a long time - even though this was not in a million years how he imagined using it. 

"Yeah, okay," he whispers against Grant's lips. He unbuttons his shirt, shoves aside the collar, lets his lips trail down Grant's neck, and then sucks at the skin over Grant's collarbone. "Boarding school," Gerard mumbles, mostly to himself. Irony, man. He’s just sorry he didn’t get to see the uniforms. "God, you're beautiful." Grant sucks in a sharp breath, and Gerard looks up at him, frames his face with his hands, and leans in close. "You are," Gerard kisses him, "So fucking beautiful it makes my head spin. Two thousand eleven or nineteen seventy-eight." 

Grant can clearly do math. "I'm fifty-one. And you still -" 

"I always will. Now shut up, and let me fuck you before I get sucked back into the timey-wimey thing." 

Grant laughs, sounding delighted and a bit startled. "You're a ruddy freak, Gerard." 

Gerard grins and kisses Grant quick and thorough. "I am. And so are you. And it's awesome. Clothes. Off. Now." Gerard unbuttons Grant's shirt the rest of the way and shoves it off his shoulders. He expects Grant to be hesitant, but he's not really. He fingers the leather of Gerard's jacket thoughtfully for a moment before tugging it off and tossing it aside.

"Does everyone in the future dress like a vagrant?" he asks, tugging on a sleeve of Gerard's tee shirt. 

Gerard laughs. "No. I, um. It's a long story." He pulls his shirt over his head and leans down, taking Grant's nipple in his mouth. Grant gasps and curses, hands flying to Gerard's shoulders and holding tight. He sucks his way across Grant's chest to the other nipple. He lets his hands brush up and down Grant's sides a few times before reaching for his waistband. He maneuvers Grant until he lies down on the bed, and Gerard pulls Grant's pants down his hips and off. He's young and gangly, but so gorgeous. His cock is huge, uncut, and flushed red, and it's all Gerard can do not to picture it on an older, more muscular body. 

"I don't know what -" Grant stops, sucking Gerard's fingers into his mouth when Gerard touches his lips. 

Gerard holds in a moan. "Fuck," he whispers. "Whatever you don't know, I think you're doing a really good job of just going with it.” Grant slides his tongue between Gerard's fingers, and Gerard curses under his breath. "How thin are these walls?" he asks. 

"Thin enough," Grant says. "I can be quiet. Please fuck me." 

First, Gerard has to get his pants off. And Grant just stares. "Are you freaking out?" Gerard asks. 

"No," Grant answers, clearly a lie. 

"It will work, I promise," Gerard says. "I'm just going to have to-" 

"I can read," Grant tells him witheringly. Fuck if he doesn't remind Gerard of the smartass little punk Frank was at his age. Gerard only just manages to keep a straight face. 

"Do you have lotion?" he asks. 

Grant points at a dresser. "Top drawer." 

Gerard gets it and sits on the edge of the bed tracing his fingers over Grant's hip. "If you want me to stop, you can tell me." 

"Go," Grant says, and Gerard has to lean in and kiss him for a while longer instead. He gets up on the bed and kneels between Grant's legs, running his hands up Grant's thighs and letting his body follow, covering Grant's body with his. He traces the lines of Grant's face with his fingers. It's so familiar, yet still so different. "Get on with it, then," Grant says, cheeks flushed and eyes turned away from Gerard. 

Gerard rolls his hips, lets his cock slide against Grant's. Grant moans, clearly only remembering at the last minute to muffle the sound with a fist. Gerard kisses the underside of Grant's jaw and rolls his hips again. He can feel the precome from Grant's cock rubbing against his belly, and god, he's somehow even more turned on. Grant whimpers around his fist, and Gerard pulls it away to kiss Grant again. When he pulls back, he says, "This will probably be easier if you're on your stomach." 

"Right, then," Grant murmurs, rolling over at Gerard's urging. Gerard trails his fingers down Grant's spine, over the pale swell of Grant's ass, between his cheeks. Grant sucks in a shuddery breath. 

"It's okay, babe," Gerard murmurs reassuringly. He gets some lotion on his fingers and moves to get Grant ready when he remembers. "Grant, do you have a condom?" 

"No," he replies. "I can... I'm sure someone here has..." 

"It's fine. We'll just. It's fine. But I need you to promise me for the future that you'll use one, whoever you're with," Gerard says, rubbing Grant's lower back. 

"I don't know why it matters to you," Grant mutters.

"Promise me," Gerard demands. "Look at me, and promise." 

"Fine, I promise," Grant murmurs, looking over his shoulder. Gerard reaches out to touch his cheek, the smooth skin where someday there will be a scar, and slides his other index finger inside Grant. Grant buries his face in the crook of his elbow and breathes. 

"Tell me if it hurts or it's too much," Gerard whispers and crooks his finger to stroke over Grant's prostate. Grant chokes back a moan, and his hips stutter against the bed. Fuck. He's hot and tight and a virgin, dear god. Gerard works him with a single finger for as long as he can stand before carefully adding a second. 

"Gerard," Grant gasps, and Gerard is pretty sure it's one of the best things he's ever heard. Gerard thrusts his fingers into Grant until he's thrusting back against them and then adds a third. Grant is pretty much humping the mattress now, pushing his forehead against his own forearm and moaning quietly with every breath. "Please, please please," he begs. 

Gerard leans over to kiss the small of his back. He slicks his cock and tugs Grant's hips up off the bed and lines up. "Ready?" Gerard whispers. Grant nods his head, and Gerard starts pushing in. He goes as slowly as he possibly can. "Fuck, Grant," he whispers. "Feel so good." 

"I can't - I - oh," Grant groans into his pillow. "Oh, fuck." His hips are moving jerkily like he can't decide whether to squirm away or push back for more. 

"Up on your hands," Gerard says, and Grant pushes all the way up. Gerard drapes himself over Grant's back and wraps an arm around him and takes his cock in hand. "Beautiful, beautiful boy," Gerard gasps in his ear. "I've wanted you for so long. This is - I never imagined." Grant just whimpers, thrusting back against Gerard's cock without hesitation now, and then into his hand. "Fuck, so good." 

Gerard presses his lips between Grant's shoulder blades and speeds up his hand on Grant's cock. He's close; Gerard can feel it. A fucking virgin. There are no words for how smugly possessive that makes him feel. He can give this to Grant. No one else. Grant gasps, and his hips stutter, and he comes all over Gerard's hand. "Grant, Grant, Grant," Gerard chants as Grant clenches around him. "So fucking good." Gerard is getting close himself but isn't ready to give up the feel of Grant quite yet. Grant turns his head and looks at Gerard. Their eyes meet, and all the wind leaves Gerard's lungs. "Fuck," he chokes out and comes hard. When he does, Grant's back arches, and his eyes squeeze shut. 

Gerard drifts off then, hands stroking Grant's sides and hair and shoulders. After a few minutes, Gerard pulls out and stretches out on the bed, Grant in his arms and his lips in Grant's hair. 

Grant is absently tracing his fingers over Gerard's chest. "You could stay," he whispers. 

"Can't," Gerard says. "I don't even know when my time is up." Gerard huffs out a breath, and Grant cuddles closer. "And that would... it would change everything, Grant. You have a life to lead that doesn't include me again for a while," Gerard murmurs, tightening his arms. 

"You said you hadn't done that with me before, yet you clearly wanted to. Why?" 

"I idolized you for years. Then I met you. Then I fell in love with you." 

"You're just sitting around in the future loving me and not doing anything about it?" Grant asks, completely baffled. He turns and pushes up on Gerard's chest, looking down at him. Gerard has to look away. 

"I tried," he whispers. 

"I...can't imagine turning you away. Future me must be a drooling idiot." 

Gerard giggles a little weakly and looks back at Grant, reaching up and running a thumb over his cheek bone. "You really kind of are. About this, anyway." There’s really nothing else he can say. Gerard eventually wriggles out of bed, heart clenching at the way Grant clings to him. "I'm just getting dressed," he says gently. "You should do the same. It's fucking cold." 

"Yank," Grant mocks him, but he can hear the fondness this time. He'd give almost anything to hear it in his Grant's voice. When he dresses, he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. 

"Can I smoke?" 

"Out the window. If your delicate system can handle the cold," Grant teases. Gerard flips him off and opens the window, lights his cigarette, and sighs heavily. Grant dresses in the pair of flannel pajamas again, simultaneously the most adorable thing he's ever seen, and a really inappropriate reminder that he totally just deflowered an 18 year old. Also it reminds him, weirdly, of Frank, and his heart clenches again. "I love you," he says quietly. He may as well say it while he still can. 

"You love him," Grant says. He sounds sad. 

"Everything you are is in him. How is that not the same?" 

Grant shrugs. "Because it just isn't." He pauses. "So what do you do, anyway?" 

Gerard smiles. "I'm in a band, and I write comics." Grant stares. 

"I've changed my mind. You're not from the future at all. I think I just wished hard enough and made you up. You're too perfect." Gerard laughs. Loud enough that he has to stifle himself quickly. 

"I promise I'm from the future.” He fumbles for his cigarette pack. "See? The date on this is two thousand ten." Grant comes closer to take a look and doesn't leave. He leans in for another kiss. Gerard grabs his hip and kisses back, his other hand still holding his cigarette out the window. 

"So I have to wait nearly thirty years to see you again?" Grant asks when he pulls back. "That hardly seems fair." 

"If it makes you feel better, I think you're going to do a lot of cool stuff in the meantime," Gerard says quietly. Then something hits him - a tingling, not quite pain, creeping up from his toes, and it's not the Scottish cold. "Shit," he says, tossing the cigarette. 

He doesn't have a chance to say anything more before everything goes black, and he sees the dim light coming in through the TARDIS windows, and Frank saying, "You're fucking hilarious, Gee." Then he sees Gerard's face. 

*

"Gee?" Frank asks, heart thudding. He was in the TARDIS for a grand total of like, a minute, and Frank had left him in there because he figured Gerard was making up lyrics or trying to remember some weird Who trivia tidbit or - whatever, Frank wasn’t worried. There's nothing that possibly could have... "Did you get hurt?" 

"Frankie -" 

Fuck, he sounds wrecked. This makes no sense. Ray is yelling for them from the TARDIS interior soundstage, and Frank yells back, "Smoke break!" then drags Gerard outside. "What... Gerard, you were... I don't understand. What's wrong?" Frank wraps Gerard's hand tight in his. 

"I was... I swear to god, Frankie. I went back in time. I saw Grant as a teenager." His hand is shaking. Frank's own stomach is all in cramps, but he lights a cigarette and hands it over to Gerard, then lights one for himself. 

"You're shitting me," he says, even though he really doesn't think he’s lying - Gerard is not that good of an actor. 

Gerard shakes his head. "God, Frankie. He... he's." Gerard laughs hysterically. "I fucked him. I took his fucking virginity." 

“Okay, um. We're coming back to that, but. Time travel? Did you hit your head?" Frank reaches for Gerard's head, and Gerard bats his hand away. 

"No! I stepped into the fucking TARDIS, blinked, and then I was in Grant's dorm room in nineteen seventy-eight." 

Frank blows out a cloud of smoke. "That's fucked up." 

"It _happened_ ," Gerard insists. He pulls down the collar of his shirt and points. "Look. You've been with me since yesterday. You saw me get out of the shower. That wasn't there before." 

Frank leans in and sees a hickey blooming red. He definitely didn't put it there, and Gerard is right. He hasn't been out of direct view of Gerard except to shower. "Fuck," Frank breathes, reaching out to run his fingers over the mark. "What was... what's he like?" 

"He reminded me a lot of you," Gerard says softly. "He was - fuck, so smart. And fucked up. And -" 

"Hot?" Frank asks mildly. 

"So fucking amazingly hot," Gerard admits. "I couldn't - you're not mad, are you?" 

"Just that I wasn't there to see it," Frank says truthfully. "We talked about this. I guess fucking time travel can be an exception to the 'in this together' rule." 

"What if he's mad at me? What if that's why he turned us down?" 

"Gerard, way back at the beginning, he was the one who contacted you. I am not a time travel expert, but it seems like if he was mad about it, he wouldn't have bothered. Maybe he doesn’t remember? Besides," Frank continues, "This is Grant. He doesn't have a problem talking about anything else. I mean, Kathmandu..." 

"Yeah, yeah, but why wouldn't he remember?" 

Frank tosses his cigarette to the ground and stomps it out. "Beats the hell out of me, but I guess there's only one way to find out." He heads back inside. 

"Wait! Frankie!" he hears Gerard chasing after him. "Are you... what if it doesn't..." 

"Gee, you were gone for a minute. If that. It'll be fine," Frank says. "And I want to... need to see him, too." 

"Maybe it won't work," Gerard says. 

"Maybe it will," Frank counters. He's already back at the police box, and he hesitates at the doorway. Gerard catches up, and Frank grabs him for a hard kiss. 

"Give him a kiss from me," Gerard whispers when he pulls back. Frank nods and pulls the door closed. 

There's a strange tingling feeling, and it makes him blink. When he opens his eyes, he's standing in the middle of a small sitting room. Definitely not a dorm room at any rate. Frank is actually fucking speechless that this worked, but if he thinks about it too much, his head is gonna hurt and... Frank's gonna be honest, he's really only here for one reason. Assuming, of course, that this is Grant's flat and not some totally random apartment. 

"Who the fuck are you?" a familiar voice behind him asks. Frank grins and turns around. And then he feels his jaw drop. Grant is wearing tight, white jeans, a leather jacket, and a t-shirt. He looks fucking good. 

Frank swallows. "Um. I'm... what year is this?" 

"Fucking great. Not a thief, then? Drunk? Cokehead? How'd you get in here? Shall I ring the coppers or just kick your arse?" Frank laughs. 

"None of the above. I got in here because the fucking TARDIS dropped me here." 

Grant laughs. "Pull the other one." 

"I'm serious. I'd have thought you'd believe me, Grant. Haven't you met a time traveler before?" Grant opens his mouth and closes it again. Frank waits. 

"I don't know." 

"You don't know?" 

"I can't remember - let's just say maybe you're not full of shit. How do you know my name? Bollocks, are you a stalker? I’ve never had one of those before." 

He doesn't remember... Frank's heart clenches for Gerard for a moment, but he grins anyway. A stalker. Now that’s just fucking funny. "Oh, I'm definitely full of shit. I'm just not lying." 

"So if you are a time traveler and not trying to rob me, why the hell are you here?" 

Frank laughs. "Well, Grant, I'll be honest. I really just came to fuck." Gerard would appreciate that touch. 

Grant's eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline and then his face changes. He looks Frank up and down and steps closer. "I could be persuaded." Frank smirks and steps up into Grant's space. 

"You never did tell me what year it is." 

"Nineteen eighty-five," Grant says, still looking Frank up and down. "You never told me your name." 

"I'm Frank," he answers, taking one last step into Grant's space. He reaches forward and puts his hands on Grant's hips. 

Grant looks down into his face. "And what year is it when you come from, Frank?" 

"Two thousand eleven," Frank says. "Hey. I'm older than you." He smirks. 

"By how much?" Grant asks, finally bringing his hands up and resting them on Frank's shoulders. 

"Four years," Frank answers. "I'll be thirty in October. Why are we still talking when you could be fucking me?" 

"I don't generally make it a practice of fucking people I don't know," Grant says. 

Frank laughs. He can't help it. Partly because he knows that will change once Grant hits thirty and partly because, "Oh, you know me plenty. Just not yet." 

"Are we fucking?" 

"No," Frank answers. He tries to keep the frown off his face. "It's... complicated." 

Grant raises an eyebrow. "Then don't you think you're taking advantage of me coming back in time to do it?" 

The bottom drops out of Frank's stomach, and he steps back. "I don't know how this thing works, but I can like... lock myself in your bathroom until I go back. I'm sorry." Fuck. Gerard thought Grant was mad at him, but maybe it was Frank he was mad at. He's surprised at how upset he is right now, and ashamed of himself - he doesn’t just fuck, and this is why. He goes to move away. He doesn't know where he'll go, but he can't stay in the same room as Grant. 

Before he gets more than two steps away, Grant's fingers close around his wrist. "Don't." 

"I can't be that guy," Frank says. "Not with you." 

"I promise to not be upset with you when I meet you again. Perhaps I won't even remember. Since clearly you know of another incident when this happened that I can't quite recall," Grant assures him. 

"But I'd know," Frank says. "I... you're too fucking important to me to..." He scrubs his hands over his head and down his face. He feels Grant's hands close around his wrists and pull them away from his face. He keeps his eyes closed. "We- I love you," Frank says. "I don't understand why that doesn't matter to you." 

"You are beautiful," Grant says. That's not at all what Frank was expecting. He opens his eyes. "And anyone would count themselves very lucky indeed to have even a quarter of the regard you clearly have for me. I'm not the one who has the answer." He sounds like the Grant Frank knows, all of a sudden, despite the biker jacket and the fringe of dark hair. 

"I know," Frank says miserably. "I shouldn't have come. Gee- I didn't think it through. I just wanted to see you. See a version of you that hadn't just..." Frank tries to pull away, but Grant's grip on his wrists is tight. 

"What did I do to you?" 

"You said no. We asked you to be with us in every way, and you said no." Frank turns his head to the side. Somehow, he thinks he should have expected this to be hard. 

"We?" Grant asks. 

Frank bites his lip. "Gerard," Frank says. "I can't - if you don't remember, I can't really -" 

"He's who I don't remember, I take it." 

"Do you remember the first time you had sex?" Frank tugs again, and Grant finally lets go of his wrists. Frank immediately sticks his hands in his pockets. Grant nods, looking pensive, and Frank says, "That was Gerard." 

Grant takes a slow breath and rubs his lips with the back of his hand. "I remember some things. Vague impressions. A promise I made to him." 

Frank shrugs and says, "Guess you won't remember this either. Maybe that's not a bad thing." 

"And if I want to remember?" Grant asks. 

"Well, I don't know how we'd go about making you remember, even if you want to," Frank says, frowning. 

"I believe in the power of talismans. Perhaps if you left something with me, that would trigger my memories." 

"I don't know why you'd want to remember this shitty conversation, but if you really want to, I guess you can have my necklace." Frank reaches for the cord, but Grant gets there first. His hands are cool and gentle on Frank's neck, and the pendant drops into his palm. 

"What if that's not all I want?" he asks. 

Frank's eyes flutter closed. "I want you so fucking much. I just. You must have had your reasons for turning us down. I don't want to... what if you don't want me? What if..." 

Grant pulls him close and slips his arms around Frank’s waist. "I can't answer you. It's not me you want," Grant reminds him. "But it is. I understand why you're here, Frank." 

"You're him. He's you," Frank says. 

"In some ways," Grant says. "But I can tell you, just looking at you, just talking to you as we have been... I do want you. And I think my future self is out of his goddamn mind for turning you down." 

"Don’t tempt me to get that in writing," Frank says. Grant leans down and kisses him instead. Frank can't stop himself from kissing back. He's completely powerless against Grant. He opens his mouth, and Grant immediately slips his tongue inside, and fuck, it's good. And then he does this little thing, a move Frank is one hundred and fifty percent sure he picked up from Gerard, and Frank remembers that, despite all his confidence and bravado, this Grant hasn't exactly been fucking his way around Glasgow. A small smile curls Frank’s lips, and he does what he's wanted to do ever since he first saw this Grant, or maybe just photos of him. He sinks his fingers into Grant's hair and holds his mouth where it is. 

Grant makes a noise in the back of his throat and grabs Frank's hips, pulling him close. After a minute, Frank pulls back, breathing hard. "Bedroom?" 

"So you're... yes?" Grant asks, and for the first time all evening, he sounds a little hesitant. 

"Yes. You better fucking forgive me. In twenty years. Fuck." Grant just leads him down the hall by the hand to a small, neat bedroom, reaching for Frank's coat and hoodie as soon as they clear the doorway. Frank reaches up and pushes at Grant's jacket. Gee would fucking shit himself if he saw this jacket, Frank thinks and smiles. 

When he gets the jacket off, he tugs Grant's shirt up, and Grant pulls it over his head. Frank's hands immediately go to Grant's sides and slide up his chest. "Jesus, you're so fucking hot." 

"I would love to return the compliment," Grant says, fingers fumbling at Frank's tee shirt. Frank lets Grant take off his shirt, and Grant's hands immediately go for Frank's birds, running his thumbs over their wings. "The word hot seems inadequate now," Grant murmurs. 

Grant has moved on to touching him everywhere, and Frank just revels in it, standing there and moving however Grant wants him to move. "Help me,” he says as his hands stall out at Frank’s waist. “Tell me what you want." 

"You. Just you. Your hands, your mouth." He reaches out and runs his hand over the front of Grant's pants. "Your cock." Grant pushes into it, hands clamping onto Frank's hips and dragging him closer. He groans. 

"Frank. I've never." 

"Holy fuck," Frank breathes. "I... that's fine. Great. I can..." Frank leans forward and sucks one of Grant's nipples. He's pretty sure if he gets more turned on, he might burst. What are the fucking chances? "I'll ride you," he whispers against Grant's collarbone when he pulls back. He hears the whine in Grant's throat, feels it. 

"Bloody hell. Yes. Yes, you will." Frank can hear the steel buried in that tone, his body responding like it was an actual order. It would be, he knows, if Grant were older, if he'd - done this before. Fuck. Frank drops to his knees automatically, pressing his mouth against Grant's cock through those fucking tight jeans. Grant moans and runs a hand over Frank's head. Frank almost wishes he still had his longer hair. 

Frank reaches for Grant's belt and fumbles with the buckle until he gets it undone, then pops open the button on the white pants and tugs down the waistband along with Grant’s briefs. It's a bit of a mess of hands around Grant’s ankles, as Frank tries to untie Grant's combat boots, and Grant tries to help him, and eventually Frank just grabs him and kisses him again. "Lie down and let me," he says. Grant smiles a little bit sheepishly and lies down. Frank gets his boots off, gets his pants off all the way, and then he's totally naked. "Fucking gorgeous," Frank murmurs, kissing his way up Grant's thighs and taking the head of his cock in his mouth. 

Grant swears again. God, he sounds young, accent even thicker than Frank expected. How did Gerard do this without fucking bursting? Frank sucks and licks and works Grant's cock with his hand for a minute and then pulls back. Grant whines and Frank laughs, kissing his hip. "Do you wanna fuck me or not?" Grant pulls away suddenly, and it's Frank's turn to whine, but he's only stretching to pull condoms and lube from a drawer. 

"He told me - I promised-"

Gerard. Frank nods. "Yes, okay. Do you want me to get myself ready or..." 

Grant licks his lips. "Show me." Frank straddles Grant's waist, and Grant's hands go to Frank's hips. Frank leans down and kisses him hard before pulling back up, getting some lube on his fingers, and reaching behind himself. He barely needs it; Gerard fucked him before they left for the BBC tour this morning - his morning, anyway. He closes his eyes and breathes and enjoys the familiar sensation for a moment before he feels a hand reach to cup his ass. "Show me how," Grant says. 

"Fuck," Frank whispers and moves up Grant's chest a bit. He takes Grant's hand and coats his fingers with lube. "Fuck me with your fingers. Two. When I tell you, add a third." Grant does as he says, and it's all Frank can do to concentrate. He can't look away from Grant's face. Grant watches his as well, dark eyes intent. Frank twists his fingers through the dark hair again, making it stand up crazily in spikes. 

"More," he murmurs after a while, hauling in a breath when Grant complies. He's building confidence. Frank can tell by the way he starts moving his fingers without hesitation. He starts feeling for Frank's prostate, and once he hits it, Frank moans loud. "Grant. Yes, fuck. Just like that." He leans down to kiss Grant again, just enjoying it for a moment. Gerard makes him do this sometimes when he's tired; it's weird being the one calling the shots. "Enough," he whispers against Grant's lips, shuffling backwards, so they can get the condom on Grant. When Grant goes to take it from Frank's hand, Frank says, "Nuh-uh," and moves his hands out of Grant's reach. He rips open the packet and rolls it slowly down Grant's cock, keeping eye contact the whole time. 

Grant bites his lip and whimpers. Frank bites his own lip, breath coming faster. He slicks Grant up with more lube and moves to line himself up. If this were Gerard, he'd just sink down and start moving right away. But... fuck, Grant has never fucked a guy before, and Frank wants to make him feel everything. His muscles shake from the strain of holding himself back, of taking Grant in so slowly. And god, he almost has to. Grant's fucking hung. "God, Grant," Frank says. "You feel so fucking... Jesus, you're huge." He finally has Grant all the way in, but he has to just sit there and pant for a moment. Grant has his eyes screwed shut, and he's making tiny noises on each exhale. "I'm gonna move now," he says, and Grant's hands settle on Frank's hips. 

Frank leans down, hands planted on either side of Grant's chest, to kiss his neck as he starts rolling his hips. Grant moans, his hands tightening on Frank's hips and his own hips stuttering off the bed, chasing Frank's. Frank clenches his muscles around Grant, and he gasps, "Fuck. Frank." 

"When it's good, baby, it's so fucking good," Frank says breathlessly. Grant struggles under him, stomach muscles clenching under Frank's hand as he sits up under him. Grant's arms wrap around him, and Frank clings back, kissing Grant for all he's worth. They move together, getting into a perfect rhythm. Frank never wants it to stop. Then Grant manages to get a hand between them and wrap it around Frank's cock, and he's clumsy, but soon finds the rhythm there, too.Frank really never wants it to stop. All he can do is say Grant's name over and over and swear in between kisses. 

Grant feels so amazing inside him, wrapped around him, moving his hand between them. For all that Frank doesn't want it to end, he still feels his orgasm building. "Harder," he whispers. Grant sucks at his neck and gives him what he asks for. Frank moans, hands clutching at Grant's back. Grant keeps working his hand on Frank's cock. He's lost all finesse, but somehow that's even hotter. "Grant," Frank moans, clenching again. 

"Come," Grant gasps. And Frank does, quick as that, fingers digging in. Grant crushes their mouths together with a hand around the back of Frank's head and thrusts hard a few more times until he follows. 

Grant pulls back to breathe hard, and Frank rubs their cheeks together. "Grant," he whispers, just barely audible above Grant's breathing. 

Grant kisses his temple, then murmurs into the skin, "If there's a me anywhere who's missing out on this, he's sodding mad." Frank blinks rapidly and trails his lips across Grant's cheek and back to his lips. Grant's arms tighten around him, holding Frank as close as he can get. 

Frank falls asleep for a little while, cheek pressed against Grant’s neck, but when he wakes, he flails his way out of bed and pulls his clothes back on. He gets back on the bed with Grant, feet dangling off the edge to keep his shoes off the coverlet. “You think you're going somewhere?" Grant asks, fingers slipping back under Frank's shirt hem to stroke his skin. 

"Gerard was only gone, like, an hour," Frank says quietly. "And it felt like a minute to me." 

Grant squeezes Frank’s side and kisses his temple and asks, "So when do we meet?" 

"You might be disappointed. Twenty years or so." 

"That is longer than I generally like to wait for the things I want, but I can be patient," Grant says. 

"You'll have plenty to keep you occupied in the meantime," Frank answers, turning his head to smile up at Grant. 

Grant smiles, but the expression quickly fades. "I think...maybe you should try talking to me again," Grant says hesitantly. "About your... offer. I can be an arsehole, yeah, but I'd hate to think I'm as stupid as I seem to be." 

Frank nods, lacing his fingers through Grant's on his belly. "Yeah. We... I don't think either of us expected you to say no." 

"I wouldn't," Grant says softly, leaning down to kiss him again. It takes a moment for Frank to notice the tingling in his limbs isn't from the kiss or from the fucking great orgasm either. He's gone, stumbling and catching himself against a rough blue-painted door. "Motherfucker," he says, rubbing his elbow. He suddenly knows exactly why Gerard reacted the way he did. This is. Fuck. 

"Frankie?" 

"Here," Frank says, stepping out. Gerard takes one look at him and opens his arms, and Frank steps into them, tucking his head under Gerard's chin. "That was..." 

"Amazing? Terrible?" 

"Yeah. Both," Frank says. 

"I know the feeling," Gerard says. "Was he... I mean, you got there basically right after I left, right?" 

"Um. No, I ended up in like, nineteen eighty-five," Frank says. 

"Weird," Gerard breathes, like the whole fucking thing besides that part isn't. 

"You're telling me," Frank answers, sticking his hands in his hoodie pockets and staring at his sneakers. They should probably go find the guys and meet back up with the tour, but Frank doesn't want to. Isn't ready. 

"What was he like?" Gerard asks. 

"So fucking hot," is the first thing that comes out of Frank's mouth. "Difficult," he adds after a moment. 

Gerard laughs. "You were difficult at twenty-five, too." Frank scoffs and bites Gerard's shoulder. 

"What are you talking about? I was a prize." 

"I always thought so," Gerard says fondly. 

Frank leans up to kiss the underside of Gerard's jaw. "I love you, too. But seriously. He accused me of being a crackhead." 

Gerard's lips twitch. "He thought I was a Fed." 

Frank laughs so hard he wheezes. "You? A Fed?" Gerard pinches his side lightly. 

"I could be a Fed. You'd never know." 

"Because I'm a crackhead?" Laughing with Gerard feels good. They've left the soundstage, started walking slowly in the direction the band had gone. 

"Exactly," Gerard says, squeezing Frank's hand in his. 

"He doesn't remember," Frank says after a few moments. "Not much anyway. Definitely not specifics. Except... you made him promise to use condoms?" 

"HIV," Gerard says sadly. "Maybe it was cheating, but I couldn't -" 

"I get it," Frank says. 

"He really didn't remember me?" Gerard asks after a moment in a small voice. 

"Not really. He... I think you made an impression, though. He... I was the first guy he ever fucked. Which he probably won't remember, either. Unless the motherfucker's talisman idea works." 

"Talisman?" Gerard asks, sounding completely befuddled. 

"I gave him my necklace," Frank answers, hand going to his neck. Suddenly he's very aware that it's missing. "Just in...just in case." 

"I... I suppose he would have told us by now if he did remember," Gerard says with a sigh. "Or maybe he's waiting until we get back?" 

"Gee," Frank says sternly. "Stop. We don't know anything. We can call him right now and ask him if he rem-" 

"No," Gerard interrupts. "I don't want to... I feel like we should let him come to us." They've rejoined the guys, and they both hush themselves up, holding hands but saving the rest of their words. 

When they're alone again, back in their hotel after the tour, the first thing Gerard says to Frank is, "Tell me about him." 

"He was wearing these tight fucking white pants-" 

"And that's different from normal, how?" Gerard interrupts. 

"No, like. Like your stage pants tight. And combat boots, and a leather jacket, and it was one of the hottest damn things I have ever seen." Gerard makes a little noise in his throat. "And then I told him I wanted to fuck, and he accused me of taking advantage of him." Frank knows he’s frowning now.

"Frankie-" 

"And I've never felt like a bigger asshole in my life because he was right. And... I ended up basically pouring my fucking heart out, and it was kind of awful." 

Gerard tips his face up and kisses him. "He couldn't resist that, I'm sure." 

No, he hadn't. "He said I was beautiful. And I asked him to fuck me, and he asked me to fucking...show him how." 

"Christ," Gerard says. 

"Yeah. It was. God, Gee. It was amazing," Frank says. "He... there's so much of our Grant in him; it was hard to remember he actually wasn't. Except for that." 

Gerard kisses him again. "It's not fair, is it? That this would happen. It's worse now, not better. We made it worse." 

"We still have each other," Frank replies, letting Gerard put his hands under Frank's shirt, strip it off and press at the marks Grant left. 

"Yeah," Gerard whispers against the skin of Frank's shoulder. "We still have each other." 

"Never expected to... after we got together, I stopped expecting to have my heart broken," Frank says, fingers sliding through Gerard's hair. He can see Gerard's jaw tighten. 

"I'd hate him for hurting you," Gerard says quietly, "If I could hate him." 

"Same here, babe," he says, cupping Gerard's cheeks. "We'll get through it together." He leans forward and presses his lips to Gerard's.

*

Grant finds himself landing in the Paris airport with nothing but a carry-on, hastily scrawled directions, and a pentacle pendant that’s left an imprint in his palm from how hard he’s been clutching it. He’d had to contact Mikey to see where the band is staying. Mikey had been quietly cranky with him in a way that Grant had never seen before, and he’d had to swear he wouldn’t make things worse. 

Those had been Mikey’s exact words. “Please don’t make things worse.”

When Grant’s not torturing himself by picturing how bad things are if Mikey’s begging him not to make them worse, he's remembering. It's been weird; the memories are strange and distant yet weirdly fresh. The strongest memory he has is how cherished he felt by both of them. Grant can't let go of the pendant he dug out of his keepsake box. Holds it in his hand or his pocket constantly. Runs his thumb over each side, studies it. He'd seen Frank wearing it a month ago and hadn't thought a thing of it. And now it's suddenly precious. Forgotten, like so much. Finally remembered. Is it too late? 

Turning them down had been inexcusable, had been painful. He hadn’t even been able to give them the reason, no matter how much they’d deserved it. Grant couldn't bear the thought of putting them through the process of caring for him in his old age. Couldn't bear the thought of them seeing his mind gone like Mum's. 

But remembering their faces, the hurt and the hope he saw when they visited him in the past.... They love him. And if he can believe in bloody time travel, maybe he can come up with a different answer. If he's not too late. The chill in Mikey's voice wasn't something that gave him much hope. He must try, though. Beg their forgiveness. Tell them he was wrong, that he loves them. They deserve that much. They deserve everything.

"Monsieur Way?" The concierge asks. "Ah, Monsieur Iero," he corrects himself. "You have a visitor at the front desk. May I send him up?” He pauses and listens, then addresses Grant. “You may go up," the concierge tells him expressionlessly. "Room Six-oh-two." 

Grant’s stomach flips queasily, but he gets on the elevator and goes up to the sixth floor. Their room is one of the first ones, and he hesitates only a few moments before knocking. It's Frank who answers the door, shoeless and pale-faced. Gerard is wearing his leather jacket and looks like he was on his way out the door. He is, of course, pale, too. It feels like forever since Grant’s seen them, and he loves them both so much he can't speak. Frank steps aside wordlessly and gestures for Grant to come in. Grant wishes they would say something, but he's sure he doesn't deserve that. 

"Grant?" Gerard finally says after a few moments of strained silence. 

"I can admit when I've been an idiot," Grant says. He pulls the pendant from his pocket and holds it out to Frank. Frank sucks in a sharp breath and reaches out, his fingers touching the pendant, then he takes Grant's fingers and curls them around it. 

"It's yours." 

“It’s been mine for twenty years,” Grant says. “But it was yours the last time I saw you. So it was all real?”

"Yeah, it was real," Frank answers quietly. 

"For years and years I had only vague memories of when you visited me. And then a few days ago I was feeling sorry for myself, looking through a box of mementos in a fit of nostalgia, and I saw that pendant for the first time in a few years. Suddenly, those vague memories became clear. You'd just got back, I take it?" 

"That sounds about right," Frank says. 

"Not that we actually know much about the timey-wimey thing. They left it out of the BBC tour," Gerard snarks. 

"You really stepped into a TARDIS prop, and it brought you to me?" Grant asks. 

"Guess the universe knows you're ours, even if you don't." Gerard's arms are crossed over his chest, and he's looking at Frank.

Grant watches Gerard and Frank look at each other. He doesn't know whether to be hopeful about being called "theirs" or discouraged by the way they've closed into themselves, paired and self-sufficient. Finally, they both turn and look directly at him in tandem. "Why are you here, Grant?" 

"It's...distinctly unpleasant to suddenly acquire several jaw-droppingly vivid memories with a side of utter disgust at your own stupidity." 

“But... did you not... before you remembered, did you not care?" Frank's voice sounds small and hurt, and Grant knows beyond any doubt that he would deserve it if they sent him away. 

"Of course I cared. Do you think I said no to hurt you?" 

"I think you never told us why," Gerard says. 

"I said no because I'd just received a call from the home my mother is in. Her condition is rapidly deteriorating, and I had this vision of the two of you having to deal with all these things, with me losing my mind, and I couldn't stand it. I failed to remember that such a thing is not my choice to make." 

"No, it's not." It's Frank who speaks up first. "I've already had to suffer through one misguided idiot thinking he's a burden." He means Gerard; Grant knows the story, of course. "Don't make me do it again." 

"Frank, I love you both. And I'm deeply sorry I let you think otherwise," Grant says, stepping closer to them. 

"You should be," Gerard says softly. His expression is pained. 

Begging doesn't come naturally. But Grant will do it. "Please," he says. "Forgive my behavior, and let me make it up to you. Let me show you precisely how much I adore you both." He knows he's won when Gerard meets his eyes, when Frank looks away. 

He wants to touch them, to take both of them in his arms. Wants to repay every touch they gave him years ago. He takes another step forward, maintaining eye contact with Gerard and reaching out a hand to grab one of Frank's. Frank closes his eyes. Grant pulls him closer to get him to open them again somehow. "Frank, darling. Please," he whispers, and Frank's eyes do open again, meeting his. This time Frank steps closer, and Grant immediately pulls him into his arms, kissing his temple. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "So sorry." 

Frank finally melts into him, tucking his head under Grant's chin and clinging like the guys always say is his specialty. Gerard moves closer, too, and Grant reaches out to cup his chin and pull him in for a kiss, on the lips for him. It feels right; he was first, after all. "It's so strange," he says, "kissing you now. You were my first kiss, you know. My first everything." 

"Oh," Gerard breathes. "I knew I'd... that you hadn't done much at all. I didn't realize... Oh." 

"And now we're all together in the present. Have I lost my last chance?" They're quiet for a moment, just looking at each other. Grant's stomach clenches, and his palms sweat, and he's never been more terrified in his life. 

Finally, Gerard speaks, "Grant, when we asked you to be with us, we meant forever. That... hasn't changed because we're hurt and angry with you." 

"All right," Grant breathes. "I can...yes, I can deal with that. Please, let me." Frank finally looks at him, all his own anger and hurt and love there for Grant to see. 

"Frank, please," he murmurs. He can see Frank remembering, like a movie playing in his golden-brown eyes. 

"A quarter of the regard," Frank whispers. 

"An eighth. A speck. Anything," Grant replies. Frank leans in all of a sudden and kisses him. It takes his limbs a moment to catch up, but he wraps Frank tightly in his arms and kisses him back, tries to show Frank just how sorry he feels. Frank responds by twisting a hand in Grant’s shirt and holding him close but lets go just as suddenly. 

"Frank?" Grant asks. 

"I love you," Frank says. "You're an asshole, but I love you. Now talk to Gerard." 

Grant can obey that particular command. "Gerard," he whispers. 

Gerard isn’t far away, watching with bottomless eyes, and he immediately steps closer, wraps himself around Grant and holds on. "I thought we'd lost you. That we... that I'd done something, and you..." he trails off, shaking his head against Grant's chest. 

"No, never," Grant tells him. "You -" For all he's a writer, he has no words for what he feels looking at this familiar, beloved face - his first, as insane and unlikely a thing as it is. "Never," he repeats. "Nothing you or Frank could ever do would keep me away. I'm sorry I allowed you to think such a thing possible for even a moment." Wrong, wrong, wrong. That's the word it always comes back to. Grant was wrong. 

"Make it right," Gerard says, like he knows - of course he knows - and Grant kisses him, strokes his fingers back into Gerard's hair. When Gerard pulls back, he doesn't go far, just leans his forehead against Grant's. 

"Every day for the rest of my life, if I must," Grant whispers. 

Frank steps close, nuzzles Grant's shoulder. "We're holding you to that," he says. "The ‘for the rest of your life’ part." 

They stand together for a moment, unmoving, then Grant asks them, "You were going out?" 

"We were gonna go to a French Revolution museum with Mikey and Alicia," Frank says. "We can probably cancel on them if we want." 

"What do you want?" Grant asks, looking between them. 

"I think we should go out," Gerard says decisively. "We can come back and talk more or... do whatever." Frank nods. After a moment Grant does, too. He can think of nothing but them, two now-unforgettable firsts, what he hopes will be another for the three of them...but he can wait. 

Once they get into the lobby and meet with Mikey and Alicia, Grant understands why Gerard wanted them to wait. Suddenly, things feel more balanced, more like they should have all along. And apparently all Mikey needs to see to forgive Grant is Grant holding Frank's hand. Gerard is...always Gerard, maybe a bit more smiley, but the change in Frank is visible. He's... glowing is the best word Grant can think of. Grant knows there will still be work to do to regain his full trust, but Grant can practically see the anger melting away from his aura and being replaced by happiness. His twenty-five-year-old self did much of the work there, he suspects. It's been a long time since Grant's had the luxury of being so straightforward. 

Grant can't seem to stop touching either of them as they walk. A hand to Gerard's elbow here, the other to the small of Frank's back there. They look at him every time, give him these gorgeous smiles he's sure he'll never get enough of. It suddenly strikes him that even if he did forget everything - what have the last thirty-three years or their magically enhanced equivalent been, if not forgetting? - he'd still know they loved him, just by their faces. How could he help loving them back? 

The museum is fun. Well, as fun as a museum about the French Revolution can be. Which turns out to be quite fun, given Frank's irreverent sense of humor. Mostly, it's just nice to spend time with them. It always has been. Perhaps their visits to the past contributed to that, but Grant thinks it was mostly just that they are meant for each other. 

They finish up at the museum and go out for dinner, to a restaurant Gerard has bookmarked on his iPhone. Grant sits next to Mikey and catches up with him, and he’s glad for the opportunity. They head back to the hotel after a few coffees, and it's strange, getting into the hotel room and knowing what's about to happen. He's been with both of them before, very long ago. Grant thinks maybe he's more nervous than they are, which is not something he'd have predicted before getting his memories back. The nervousness vanishes as soon as Gerard gets the door closed and steps into his space, leans up to kiss him. 

"I've thought about this so many times," Grant says. 

"Us too," Frank says from where he's sitting on the bed pulling off his shoes. "We've talked about it so much. What we want to do with you." Frank, it appears, knows just how to turn him on. 

"Tell me," he says. 

"So many things," Gerard says. "He has a favorite, though. Gets him going every time I mention it. Tell him, Frankie." Grant draws in an unsteady breath, looking at Frank. 

"Want both of you to fuck me at the same time," Frank says. Grant swallows hard and watches Frank run a hand over the front of his jeans. 

"It really gets him going," Gerard whispers in his ear. 

"Gee has one, too," Frank says breathlessly. 

"Do you?" Grant runs a hand down Gerard's back and grabs onto his arse. Gerard nods. 

"Tell me," Grant orders. 

"You fuck me backstage just before we're about to go on while Frank sucks me off. No time for anything but coming and going immediately onstage." 

"That's...rather advanced, both of you," Grant says. 

"We've had a while to practice," Frank says dryly. He gets up and walks toward them, going up on his toes to kiss Grant, too. "That's just scratching the surface. We have so many things we want to do with you. So fucking many." 

"We should start, then," Grant says amiably. 

"Where?" Gerard asks. "It's a pretty long list." 

"Let's just see where our hands lead us," Grant says with a smile. 

Frank reaches out and tugs on Grant's coat. "My hands are leading me to take off your clothes." 

"Of course they are," Gerard teases him, but he sits on the edge of the bed and fumbles at his bootlaces while he watches. Frank works at getting Grant's clothes off. Grant watches his hands, watches the colors on his knuckles. Grant can't help but grab one and lift Frank's fingers to his mouth. Frank moans when Grant sucks on his fingers, even more so when Grant cups his other hand over Frank's cock in his jeans. 

"God, you're so fucking hot," Frank breathes. 

Grant pulls Frank's fingers out of his mouth. "I've been having several fantasies of my own." 

"Yeah?" Frank asks. "Like what? We shared ours. Now it's your turn." 

Grant smiles, glances at Gerard who's sitting on his hands and looking at Grant expectantly. "Before I remembered the two of you, my answer would have been different, but now I'm quite fond of the thought of Gerard fucking me while I fuck you," Grant answers. Gerard chokes back a moan, pulling a hand from under him to palm his dick. 

"Fuck," Gerard says. 

Grant doesn't so much hear Frank's moan as feel it rumble through his chest where Frank has pressed his mouth. Then Frank is a whirl of action, pulling Grant's shirt over his head and scrabbling at the buttons of his trousers. When Frank gets the button and zip undone, Grant moves toward the bed. He slides his trousers and pants down his thighs and sits next to Gerard. Frank immediately goes for Grant's shoes and pulls his pants the rest of the way off. Grant is so busy watching him that he's not prepared for it when Gerard wraps a hand around his cock. 

"Oh fuck," he gasps. He has a moment of strange déjà vu. So strange that this person he loves so dearly was also the first person to ever touch his cock other than himself. 

Frank lays his head on Grant's thigh, and Grant runs his fingers over Frank's head, over the tattoo behind his ear. Gerard keeps working his hand, his lips finding Grant's shoulder. 

"Enough," Grant says. "Pleasant as this is, neither of you are naked yet, and this is entirely unacceptable." 

Gerard laughs and stands up, pulling Frank up by the hand. "We'll undress each other for you, then," Gerard says with a smile and tugs at the buttons of Frank's cardigan. Their focus turns from him to each other. It's beautiful, how they are together - so in tune with each other. Grant can admit that a small part of him had been worried about that when he turned them down - that there was no room for him. 

They may be intent on the task, on each other, but they keep looking at Grant, keep watching for his reactions. He can only hope what's showing on his face is satisfactory. And then they're naked and standing in front of him, and he wants their bodies against his more than he wants anything else. 

"Please," he says. "Come here before I burst." Gerard steps forward between Grant's legs, and Grant brings his hands up to Gerard's hips. Frank kneels on the bed at Grant's side, draping his arms around Grant's shoulders and nuzzling his face. 

"I love you both so much," Grant tells them. He can't not. 

"Love you, too," Frank says and puts a hand on his cheek and pulls his head around for a kiss. When he lets go, Gerard crawls into his lap, knees bracketing his waist, and kisses him, too. 

"So much," Gerard echoes. "You really want me to fuck you?" Gerard whispers. 

"I really fucking do," Grant replies, leaning in to nibble at Gerard's collarbone. 

"I bet you don't need me to tell you what to do now," Frank says quietly in his ear. 

"No," Grant murmurs. "I want your hands, though. I want you to prepare me for Gerard." 

"All yours," Frank rasps. Gerard pushes Grant's shoulders until he tips over onto his back and leans down to kiss him before rolling off. Grant moves up the bed so his back is against the pillows, Frank following on his knees. 

Gerard hands Frank the lube, and Frank kisses Grant for a minute before nudging Grant's knees apart and kneeling between them. Frank starts out slowly with his free hand curled around Grant's ankle, leaning his head against Grant's knee and watching his face. Grant watches him back. He's beautiful, face intent, keeping a steady pace as he slides his index finger in and out of Grant. It's been a while, but Frank's hands are gentle and strong. He seeks out Grant's prostate after a while, and Grant gasps. He's already working to control his breathing. Frank adds a second finger, his strokes slow and sure, fingers sliding over his prostate with every thrust. 

"Frankie," Grant breathes. Gerard nuzzles the back of Frank's neck, kissing across his shoulders before crawling up the mattress to Grant. He kisses Grant, but only briefly. 

"Can't let you miss watching Frank." And then his hands are on Grant, moving over his head and shoulders and chest. Gerard leans down and swirls his tongue around one of Grant's nipples and then sucks hard. Grant moans. 

"You like that," Gerard murmurs. Grant tips his head as Gerard moves back up to his neck. How could he not like it? 

"Your mouth," Grant says. He can't say anything more, not with Frank adding a third finger. Gerard kisses his neck, sucks on his earlobe, lets his hand wander down to wrap loosely around Grant's cock. Grant moans loud. He's practically to the point of begging. Instead he lets loose a string of very Scottish curses, and Frank laughs. 

Gerard just smirks. "Was there an ‘I'm ready’ in there?" 

"Yes, damn you both," Grant gasps. Frank crooks his fingers, and Grant curses again. They both look at Gerard. 

"Okay, Frankie," Gerard finally says, and Frank draws out his fingers. Grant reaches down and grabs his wrist. He can't bear the thought of losing physical contact with Frank. 

"Not going anywhere," Frank whispers into his ear. 

"Good," Grant whispers back. Gerard takes Frank's spot between Grant's legs. He kneels there, cock in hand, for a moment, just staring at Grant. "Please," he chokes. Gerard runs his free hand up Grant's thigh, positions himself, and pushes in. Grant can't do anything but moan and clutch at both of them. 

Gerard just echoes the moan; he's staring like he's afraid to close his eyes. "You're here. With us," he says breathlessly. Grant squeezes his hip and wraps a leg around Gerard's thigh. 

"And I'm not going anywhere. Fuck me." Gerard bites his lip and nods, pushing Grant's leg up and thrusting deeper, slowly setting up a rhythm. It's so goddamn good. Grant hasn't been fucked for a long time, and Gerard is... he's incredible at it. He knows exactly how to move to reduce Grant to dust. Grant hasn't been with anyone in a while where he can just... Let go. And if he needs to come back to himself for a moment, there's Frank, stroking gentle fingers over the planes of his face. 

"Frank," he whispers and moves his hand up to cup Frank's cheek. There's no trace of Frank's earlier upset, just an overwhelming amount of love radiating from him. 

"What are you thinking?" Frank whispers back, running his thumb over Grant's lips. 

"How lucky I am," Grant says. "How much I love you both." 

"You really do, don't you?" 

"So much. Past, present, and future," he gasps out as Gerard thrusts into him. Grant's whole chest tightens, and he wraps a hand around the back of Gerard's neck and pulls him close. "I'm sorry," he says. "Sorry I took so long. Sorry I was such a fool." 

"We're not talking about that anymore," Frank says, turning Grant's head to get his own kiss. Every single one of Grant's nerves is sparking. Gerard's body against his, Frank's lips. It's all too much. "Fuck. Love. So much," he repeats, eyes slipping closed. 

"You gonna come that easily?" Gerard asks against his cheek. 

"I don't think anyone could blame me if I did," Grant says. "You're, both of you... You're too much. I... It's been so long." 

"Pull the other one," Frank says with a gentle nip. "You could have anyone." 

Grant pushes his hand into Frank's hair. "I'm not lying. I suppose it's true, but I haven't... not in a long time. I've... well. I've been feeling very, very alone of late. First I thought I couldn't have you. And then I thought I shouldn't." 

"Gee?" Frank says softly. 

Gerard leans down and kisses Grant gently on the lips. "Can. Should. Do." He picks up the rhythm of his thrusts, nodding at Frank to wrap his hand around Grant's cock. 

"Fuck," Grant moans. "Faster. Harder," he says. Gerard's hips snap forward, and Frank's hand speeds up. 

"Like that?" Frank whispers in his ear. 

"Yes, fuck. I'll go mad if you stop." 

"Don't plan on it," Frank says and kisses him, tongue exploring Grant's mouth thoroughly. Gerard keeps up his thrusts, pushes Grant's knee back, so he can get a different angle, and then he's hitting Grant's prostate with every stroke. 

"Jesus," Grant gasps, wrapping fistfuls of the sheets in both hands. Every time he bucks up, Frank's mouth is there. Sometimes Gerard's. Sometimes they're kissing each other messily. Sometimes Frank is mouthing at Grant's chest. Grant's nerves sing with every thrust. He's seeing spots; he's so fucking close. His orgasm comes over him suddenly; everything pulls tight and snaps. He shouts out their names, curses, nonsense. He's so overcome by them.

Gerard keeps thrusting, babbling Grant's name and Frank's, telling them how amazing they are. Frank runs his hand over Grant's face, dropping kisses on his shoulder and neck. 

"Gerard," Grant whispers. "Come, love." Gerard makes an incoherent noise and bows his head, thrusts going erratic for a few seconds before he's hauling in a breath and coming. Frank sits up and wraps a hand around the back of his neck, kissing his forehead. Grant just watches, his hands frozen on both of them. He still can't believe he's here. That they're truly his. 

"God, Grant," Gerard gasps. "I never..." he trails off, squeezing Grant's side where his hand rests. "I want to do that a million times. If you'll let me." 

"I would be quite cross if you didn't," Grant says, tangling his fingers with Gerard's. 

Gerard squeezes Grant's fingers and tips his head up to kiss Frank's lips. When Frank reaches for his own cock, Grant finally moves a hand to stop him. "No. Let me..." 

"Let you what, babe?" Frank says softly. 

"I want to blow you," Grant tells him, tugging on his hip. "Come closer." 

Frank lets out a little moan and moves up the bed. Gerard pulls out, and Grant sucks in a breath. Gerard spreads kisses over his chest, murmuring endearments before pulling back a little ways. 

Frank settles with his back against the pillows, and Grant rolls over into the V of his legs. He can feel Gerard curl up against his back, lips finding Grant's shoulder. Grant concentrates on Frank, running a hand up one tattooed thigh and closing it gently around the base of his cock. It's already flushed hot red, wet at the tip. He leans down and runs his tongue over Frank's balls and up to the tip, taking the head in his mouth and sucking. 

"Fuck, Grant," Frank chokes out. 

"Tell me if it's good," he mumbles. 

"It's you," Frank says. "As if it could be anything else." 

Grant squeezes Frank's hip and takes Frank’s cock into his mouth until his lips meet his fist. He gets into a rhythm, after a bit, listening to Frank's gasps and feeling Frank’s fingers creep gently over the skin of his head and neck. 

"He's getting close," Gerard whispers in his ear. "He's trying really hard to hold back, but he's not going to be able to for much longer." 

Grant moans because he can't say what he wants to say, which is "Stop holding back." He wants it all, the rush of Frank's come over his tongue, the bite of his fingers into Grant's shoulder. Grant moves his hand over to Frank's hip and takes more of him in, swallowing around the head of Frank's cock. Finally Frank loses control and starts fucking up into his mouth. 

"Come, Frankie," Gerard says. "He wants you to." 

Frank thrusts one more time, and Grant's mouth is flooded. He swallows everything down, loves the taste of it, loves that it's _Frank_ he's tasting. 

He strokes Frank's hips as he pulls off, kisses his stomach and thighs until Frank tugs him up into the small amount of space between him and Gerard. They lie together quietly for several minutes. Grant strokes his hand up and down Frank's arm and watches his face as he comes down from his orgasm. 

"Fuck, Grant," Frank says. "That was... fuck." 

Grant can't help the self-satisfied smirk he knows crosses his face. Frank just laughs breathlessly and kisses him before tucking himself into Grant's side. 

Gerard props his chin on Grant's shoulder and stares into his face, looking both satisfied and resolute. "I know we're on tour and it will be tough for a while, but you know we'll be there for you and help you, right? Wherever you are." 

Grant reaches out to cup Gerard's cheek, "I know." 

"Seriously, Grant," Frank says in his ear. "You need to talk to us about this stuff. We _love_ you, and it was... it was so fucking hard when you wouldn't even tell us why, tell us what was going on." 

"I will try my best, I promise," Grant replies. 

"Well, your best is really fucking good, so I think we'll be okay," Gerard says lightly and leans down to kiss Grant's shoulder. 

Grant smiles and wraps an arm around him and turns his head to nuzzle his nose against Frank's. Yes, they'll be fine. Together. 

***

_Two months later_

Grant wakes up slowly to the sound of furious tapping. He blinks a few times. He’s in a hotel room, and for a moment he’s not sure where, but he’s got an armful of warm, sleeping Frank, so he’s not sure it matters too much. He looks at the clock - nearly noon. He never sleeps this late, but - of course, the band had a show last night, and now they have almost two weeks off. 

New York City. He’s got his bearings now. And the tapping is... “Gerard, what _are_ you about?” he whispers. 

Gerard looks up from his laptop, the screen giving him an especially ghoulish look in the dark room. “Doctor _Who_ , Grant,” he says in a pained tone of voice. “I’ve been getting a download.”

“Ah, it was last night, was it?” Grant knows it was. He’s just giving Gerard hell. Frank rolls over and smushes his face against Grant’s chest.

“There’d better be coffee,” he mutters darkly. “And bagels.”

“There’s coffee if Gerard stops poking at the computer long enough to make it or if you let go of me. You’ll need to leave the hotel for bagels, darling.” 

Frank just grumbles and holds tighter. Gerard makes a pleased noise and sets his laptop back on the desk. “Download’s done!”

“You’re going to make us watch it right now, aren’t you?” Frank asks, although he’s still mashed up against Grant, so it comes out more like “Gnnn maykus watchrynowrrn?”

“I’ll make coffee first,” Gerard says sweetly.

Frank grumbles again but kisses Grant’s chest and sits up. Gerard does, as promised, start the little coffee pot going before going to fuss around with cords to hook his laptop to the television. As he sets the mugs right side up and fills them with an assortment of sugar and creamers, he says, “I don’t know if I ever said; I kept wanting to write to the crew and ask if the TARDIS prop has ever, you know, time traveled anyone else. But I thought they'd think I was just another crackpot." 

“You _think_?" Frank snarks. Gerard flips him off, and Frank leans over and grabs Gerard’s wrist, tugging him over to kiss him while the coffee brews. 

Grant fluffs the bed pillows and props them up against the headboard, tugging Frank back across the mattress and accepting his cup of coffee from Gerard when it’s done. "You know if they ever do let me write an episode, I'm going on set and trying it for myself," he tells them. 

“Oh my god,” Frank moans, clunking his head back against the headboard, “you're both insane." 

Gerard shushes Frank, and Frank kicks him. Gerard swats at his leg but climbs back in bed next to him with his own cup of coffee after hitting play on the laptop. They lean against each other and watch the screen as the credits roll.


End file.
